


“Images of a Woman”

by AhmedA01



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, British Singers RPF, Music RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhmedA01/pseuds/AhmedA01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> In 1966, the lads were on tour in Japan and during the 100 hours that they spent in that country, they created an amazing piece of art. But when two Beatles get tired and go to bed, what did the other two get up to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Images of a Woman”

[ ](http://ahmeda01.files.wordpress.com/2014/02/images-of-a-woman_1966_japan_01.jpg)

_“I never saw them calmer, more contented than at this time. They were working on something that let their personalities come out. I think it’s the only work they ever did all together that had nothing to do with music. They were very harmonious and happy, calling their wives and girlfriends, all the time doing this painting. They’d stop, go and do a concert and then it was “Let’s go back to the picture!”_   
**Robert Whitaker**

Four dark-haired heads knelt over the large white canvas, each at a different corner of the palette as a large black lamp created a halo of light around them as they worked. Rosy cheeks were smeared with paint and smoky charcoal was smudged onto the tips of four very distinct noses, creating the look of multi-coloured savages. The four were impervious to outside distractions, the call of loose women, free-flowing liquor, and unlimited ciggies losing their appeal.

For the time being that is.

In a matter of hours, the once white surface was awash in colour. Swirls of cerulean, magenta, gold, and forest green adorned the canvas, a cacophony of colour merging into one entity, giving the image not only form, but life as well. The four very distinct styles melded into a study of four very different personalities, each man putting his own perspective on the image of a woman.

In the flickering of the low light, Paul looked up from his corner and gazed of into the distance, seeking inspiration for the next stroke of his brush. Turning to his right, a small smile curled Paul’s lips as he fixed his stare on the rust coloured head to his side. Eyes lighting up with a sudden spark of inspiration, the younger man quickly turned back towards his painting, left hand working feverishly to capture the image in his mind on paper.

The moment that Paul went back to work, John looked up, the ever present smirk splashed across his face as he stared at his best mate, the look in his eyes at once admiring and loving, marked by a touch of fear and anxiety. Leaning in unconsciously, John moved his face closer to that of the younger man’s, breathing in heavily as he sought to commit Paul’s scent to memory. A delightful mix of cigarettes, cologne and leather; it was intoxicating.

Feeling John’s nearness, Paul looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he came face to face with the other man’s thoughtful appearance. The look of shock, however, melted straight away, the two men gazing into each other’s eyes with a mixture of bashful contentment.

“Fucking hell!”

The words immediately jarred John and Paul from their reverie, a look of comic surprise descending upon their faces. The two quickly jumped apart, not wanting to be caught making moon eyes at each other.

“It’s almost 3 AM,” George continued, as he threw his paintbrush into the cup of water as he got to his feet.

“What are you complaining about, love?” Ringo replied as he looked up from his work. “We’re usually up later than this.”

“Well, I know that,” the younger man said with a shrug. “But usually we have other ways of keeping ourselves busy…” George trailed off as he wagged his eyes suggestively.

Recovering from the earlier moment, John looked up in mock disbelief, as he placed a hand on his chest.

“Why Mr. Harrison,” he began, aghast. “Are you suggesting that we usually spend our nights embroiled in lecherous acts of sin?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Turning back to his painting, John replied. “Okay, just wanted to make sure.”

Paul simply rolled his eyes in response, as Ringo chuckled low, wrapping his soiled paintbrushes in a rag as he got to his feet.

“George does have a point though,” he said with a yawn. “It is getting late, and we have to be up early tomorrow morning. Besides, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m fucking knackered.”

“Wait!” John exclaimed. “We’re not done yet!”

“Come on, Lennon!” Ringo exclaimed in exasperation. “The painting will be here tomorrow morning. We can get back to it after a good night’s sleep.” Turning to the other man he asked, “You coming, Paul?

Looking up, Paul tilted his head to the side as he mulled it over. “Nah,” he finally replied. “I think I’ll stay out here a little longer; I really want to get a bit more done. You two go ahead.”

Shrugging, Ringo pushed in his chair before following George to the other end of the suite, the two saying good night, before closing the doors to their respective rooms behind them.

After throwing a quick smile John’s way, Paul turned back to his painting, an intense look of concentration immediately falling across his face as he contemplated his next move. With the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Paul swirled a streak of yellow alongside a light blue ring, beaming in satisfaction as he sat back to admire his work before continuing.

Stopping mid-stroke, John let his brush fall to the side as he turned his gaze on Paul, watching the younger man unabashedly, yet unbeknownst to him. Tilting his head to the side, John rested he face on his upturned palm, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips.

After a few minutes, Paul looked up and caught John’s stare, puzzled by the intensity of his friend’s gaze. With a shake of his head, Paul looked away, only to feel those dark eyes still on him. His skin growing warm, Paul looked up again, embarrassment colouring his features at the unexpected attention.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

However, John simply stared back silently.

With a worried look, Paul sat forward, his hand resting on the older man’s arm. “John, love?” he asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Dark eyes blinking languidly, John breathed, “You’re adorable.”

“Wait… what?” Paul asked, as he drew back in surprise, his face turning beet red.

Blinking rapidly, as though coming out of a daze, John sat up quickly. “Ummm, nothing,” he stammered. Shaking his head as though trying to clear his thoughts, he continued. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second there.”

“I can see that,” the younger man chuckled as he tried to cover up his uneasiness. “You’ve gone barmy, you have.”

“Hey now!” John exclaimed in mock indignation, as he punched the other man lightly on the shoulder. “Is that any way to talk to your elders?”

With a laugh, Paul shook his head at John’s antics, sparing him one last fleeting look before the two of them returned to the task at hand. After a minute or two of silently working, Paul looked up again, his gaze returning immediately to John’s downturned head. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he flicked his paintbrush at the other man, a dollop of bright blue paint landing on John’s cheek.

Paul quickly looked down, pretending to be engrossed in his painting, snickering quietly to himself the entire time. Peeking through impossibly long eyelashes, Paul watched as John absently wiped his hand across his face, a look of astonishment flashing across the older man’s features at the feel of the cold paint on his skin.

Pulling his hand away, John stared at his blue smeared fingertips, puzzled at its sudden appearance. Looking up, he noticed the quiet shaking of his partner’s shoulders, realization immediately dawning. His glare melting into a look of mischief, John dug his fingers into the magenta paint on his easel and without warning, reached down the back of Paul’s checkered shirt, smearing the paint down the back of his neck.

Letting out an unmanly yelp, Paul jumped up a foot into the air, his hands batting across his back as he sought to rid himself of the paint oozing down his skin on his skin.

“Oi! What the bloody hell was that for?” he yelled angrily, glaring down at the older man’s grinning face.

“Don’t act all innocent with me,” John huffed. “You started it.”

Catching sight of John’s half blue face, Paul fought the smirk that threatened to appear, opting for a look of innocence instead.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the younger man sniffed haughtily, as he turned to the side with his nose in the air. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Oh, please!” John scoffed, with narrowed eyes. “Of all the sneaky little bastards that I know, you’re the absolute worst. Why, I can list a number of times where you…”

Paul quickly halted John’s tirade by flicking yellow paint at the other man, grinning like a Cheshire cat when it landed on his aquiline nose.

Shaking his head ruefully, John said with a sigh, “Now, that was just rude.” Standing up, he gathered up the tubes of paint before continuing with a resigned look on his face, “And for that, you must pay.”

Paul quickly jumped up and giggling like mad, he scrambled to collect all the tubes of paint that he could reach, before bounding for the opposite side of the room.

“Now, now John,” he began in a placating voice, his eyes trained on the older man’s face as he quickly emptied a tube of paint into his upturned palm. “Is there really any reason to be cross? You look quite fetching in blue and yellow.”

“I have to disagree with you there,” John responded in kind, as he readied himself for the assault. “The yellow does nothing for my complexion.”

Squeezing a dollop of paint into his hand, John aimed for Paul, his attempt landing on the hotel’s plush leather sofa instead.

“Oops,” John replied with a shrug, as he moved forward to survey the injury. “Let’s just chalk it that misfire up to collateral damage.”

With John momentarily distracted, Paul took the opportunity to sneak up from behind and slap green paint covered hands on either side of John’s face. Laughing as he sidestepped an ottoman, Paul quickly moved away, eager to put as much distance between the two of them as John whirled around to face him. The younger man, however, was not fast enough, and John caught Paul around the waist, bringing him flush against his body before grabbing Paul’s face between his hands and bringing their lips together.

Sweet and desperate at once, the two men clung to each other, their mouths fused together as John’s lips slanted over Paul’s, gently sucking on the bottom lip before catching it with his teeth in a delicate tug. Groaning, Paul wrapped his hand around the base of John’s neck, fingers playing with the soft hair as he let his tongue lightly trace the corners of the other man’s mouth, placing small kisses on the corners of his lips. John sighed contentedly, tightening his hold around the younger man’s body as he began to bestow small pecks on Paul’s upturned mouth, eliciting a laugh from the younger man.

Breaking away, Paul rested his forehead against John’s, smiling brightly as he squeezed a tube of pink paint on top of John’s head and smearing the bright goop into his hair with his hands.

“Bloody hell,” John groaned, as he looked up, his face a picture of exasperation. Noticing the pleased look on Paul’s face, however, caused the older man to break out into laughter, spurring the other on as well. The two men giggling like schoolgirls, while still wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

“I thought you’d never kiss me!” Paul finally gasped, as their laughter subsided. “I was starting to think that I’d have to make the first move again.”

Rolling his eyes, John leaned back to look into the other man’s eyes. “You have to give it time to build up, mate,” he admonished. “Can’t just go barreling in, dick in my hand like a sex-starved nutter.”

Paul simply stared back incredulously.

“Well, okay,” John amended. “I know that that is my usual course of action, but I have to admit. Going slow does have its merit.”

“Mmmm…” Paul moaned, as he began to pepper light bites and kisses along the side of John’s neck. “Letting all that tension build up, until you feel as though you’re about to explode.”

Head falling back as the sensations began to take control, John closed his eyes, voice coming out in a strangled sigh. “Unable to think, unable to eat,” he moaned. “Unable to do a bloody thing until you can touch the other person again.”

“Fucking hell, Johnny,” Paul groaned into John’s ear. “I thought those two were never going to leave.”

Smiling impishly, John pulled back to look into Paul’s eyes. “Why, Mr. McCartney,” he admonished. “Did you want to have your wicked way with me?”

“That was the plan,” Paul replied with a wink. “Unless, you’d rather be doing something else…” he trailed off as he began to pull away slightly.

“God, no,” John moaned as he pulled Paul closer, the gap between them disappearing as their lips moved together once again.

Days and weeks of being unable to slip away together, to even hold hands or bestow a simple caress fueled the kiss. In a fit of unadulterated lust, John took Paul’s lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard, causing the younger man to let loose a moan of both pain and pleasure. When the opportunity presented itself, John traced the outline of Paul’s mouth, flicking the edges before delving between his parted lips.

Breaking apart when lack of oxygen became an issue, Paul took hold of the back of John’s neck, bruising the skin as he seized a fistful of hair and yanked the other man’s head roughly to the side. Kissing along John’s stubbled jaw, Paul traced a molten path towards the older man’s neck with his tongue before biting down, dull teeth leaving an imprint in the pale column of exposed flesh. Feeling John’s erection against his thigh, a smirk curled Paul’s lips as he ground himself against the older man, eliciting a moan from both.

Panting hard, the two slowly broke apart, sheepish grins on their faces, as they quickly stood and looked around to make sure that no one had stumbled across their little scene. Running a hand through his hair to calm his overexcited nerves, Paul’s face immediately broke into a look of disgust as his fingers were met with the remnants of their earlier paint fight.

“Fucking hell,” Paul grumbled, as he wiped his hand on his shirt. “I’m never going to get this bloody paint out of my hair.”

“Well, I can always help you with that,” John replied with a wink. “Give you a hand with all of those hard to reach places.”

With a sideways glance, Paul asked, “Can you now?”

“Of course,” the older man replied, desire glinting in his eyes. Coyly, he looked at Paul through lowered eyelashes as he trailed a finger up the younger man’s arm. “Why don’t you join me in the loo? I’ll draw a hot bath and show you that these strong hands can be used for more than just strumming a guitar.”

Forcing himself not to laugh at John’s antics, Paul leaned in “Mmm… sounds heavenly. Should I expect company?”

“Would you like some?”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Winking at John, Paul gave him a quick slap on the rear, before sashaying off, hips swinging wildly. Pausing in the doorway, he threw his partner a come hither look, as he said, “You coming?”

Replying in an equally breathy, John replied, “Not yet. But I will be.”

The act falling to the wayside, Paul rolled his eyes as he let out a groan, his head shaking in disbelief.

“What?” John asked, his face the perfect picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“John, love,” Paul said in a horror-struck voice. “That was bloody horrible.”

“Come on, it’s late! Give a man a break.”

With an amused shake of his head, Paul simply turned around without a reply and disappeared within the bathroom.

Laughing softly to himself, John picked up the discarded paint tubes and placed them on the table near the painting, his gaze taking in their soon-to-be finished masterpiece. His eyes traveling the length of the canvas, they soon stopped on Paul’s painting, lingering on the bold streaks of colour before moving to his own.

How unlike the two corners were, one so symmetrical and self-contained, the other a blast of colour, unable to be controlled.

And yet, the two pictures worked well together.

“Just like us…” John whispered to himself, as he turned off the lamp and followed Paul into the bathroom, shutting the door with a low click behind him, cutting off the younger man’s shriek of delight and enveloping the suite in silence again.


End file.
